The Last Child
by Revan419
Summary: Nineteen years after the Second Wizarding War, the wizarding community has begun to move into the open. They are met by opposition by the Muggle population, leading to a rebellion which could incite open warfare.


**_Author's Note: This is a very wild idea I had. I don't think it requires any explanation; it can take care of that on its own. Please comment, and as always, enjoy! o3o_**

**_DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, it's JKR's. If you don't, it's mine. XD_**

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**CHAPTER ONE**

**SURPRISE VISIT**

The last glinting rays of sunlight drifted in through the many-panelled window, casting hazy beams that broke through the lengthening shadows and illuminated the multitude of dust motes that sparkled in the air. The room was fairly large and designed in the shape of a crescent moon. The circular wall bore the only door into or out of the room. The polished oak door was closed now, but had one been standing on the other side, they would have been met by the sight of a massive brass knocker shaped like a badger.

An assortment of glass casing and shelves flanked the door. The dying sunlight that trickled in spilled across the rubies on the gleaming sword that rested protectively in its case. Finely etched along the blade in narrow lettering was the inscription "Godric Gryffindor".

The other cases held a variety of smaller objects set on fluffy plum cushions. There was a silver candelabra lying on its side—some family heirloom, perhaps, or a recovered treasure. What looked like a skull, smaller than that of a human, resided in another. A golden cup lay haphazardly in the last. It bore a black and yellow shield with a painting of a badger in the foreground—the crest of Hufflepuff House. The cup had been cloven in two.

Books and scrolls littered the shelving, large tomes with faded writing and pages with heavily frayed edges. Broken bits of quills and empty inkpots were interspersed here and there among the books; whoever had last been here had not bothered to tidy up.

Two marble columns stood at opposite ends of the center of the chamber, their heads supporting the high ceiling. Lanterns hung with thin chains draped from each, and they were decorated with trailing tapestries that bore the house colours.

The wooden floor was pristine, yet simplistic. It was easily the cleanest and most attractive thing in the room. A black and yellow rug with gold fringe presided over most of the expanse of wood. A narrow set of steps led up to a small dais which housed a desk that was overcrowded with an abundance of seemingly random items. The lone window dominated the wall behind the desk, and before that sat the only chair in the room. Off to the side, the stone fireplace sat empty; it would not be lit until much later in the year.

Neville Longbottom dropped his glasses onto the desk before him and sighed, pushing aside the lamp he had been using. He fingered the thin iron collar for a moment before he let it fall to the wooden surface as well. It looked to be all of one seam, with nothing to say that it could open or close. It was completely unmarked and untarnished, and his best efforts with the ruby-hilted sword in the case had not put a dent in the material.

He eyed it for a moment with great distaste and a slight twist to his mouth. It seemed innocent enough. It would fit snugly around his neck, should he manage to get it open. But he wasn't foolish enough to put it on. The mere thought of it almost made him gag deep in his throat.

Neville managed to tear his eyes away from it with a great effort and scanned the rest of the desk's surface. Quills were present here, as well, though most were unharmed and still dipped in ink. There were lengths of parchment piled everywhere—some scrawled over disjointedly in his own writing, and some not. A lone photograph sat in a metal frame. A pretty woman with blonde hair and brown eyes waved at him from behind the glass and smiled.

Almost subconsciously, Neville dropped one hand inside his robes and fumbled around for a moment before withdrawing a shiny golden coin from within his pocket. He turned it over in his fingers for a moment, studying it. The rim of the galleon bore strange markings; on a normal coin, this would have been the serial number that identified the goblin responsible for minting the coin. This galleon was different, though. Hermione had bewitched it over two decades ago in their fifth year at Hogwarts, providing the means of communication between members of Dumbledore's Army. Those were good times, he thought idly. At least _then _they had known what they were fighting against. Now the gold coin was the only remnant he had of that cherished past. He clutched it tightly in his fist and swept his eyes over the desk once more.

One leaflet stood out to him amongst the pile of garbage on his desk. With his free hand, he picked his glasses back up and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. With an air of laziness and feeling that he had done this before, he pulled the slim pamphlet out from under a stack of parchment.

It was entirely black, and silver lettering flashed across the paper. The front panel bore the headline:

**THE CENTRAL BUREAU OF MAGICAL ANCESTRY**

The Minister of Magic, with the backing of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, has recently undergone a series of political discussions with other governing agencies throughout the world. As the wizarding community at large is certainly aware, the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was established in 1692. The purpose of the document was to safeguard the wizarding community from Muggles, and hide our presence from the world.

Said Hermione Granger, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister: "Naturally, we needed to protect ourselves. What with witch-burnings and persecution by Muggles, the magical population was hard-put to survive at one point. Something had to be done."

The Statute of Secrecy has since been abolished. Following the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, wizards all over the world began to move out into the open.

"It's high time we revealed ourselves," said Draco Malfoy of the Auror Office. "We've suffered enough. There's no reason we should have to hide. We can coexist."

For all intents and purposes, the plan worked well. For a time. Little more than a decade after the height of the Second Wizarding War marked the beginning of the Muggle resistance. People of magical descent were vanishing in regions all over the globe, seemingly at random. It soon became apparent that the attacks were anything but.

The Muggle governments, primarily that of the United States, have begun to coordinate efforts against magic. They have erected temporary internment camps, the locations of which remain unknown to magical authorities. The "Shock-ring" as it has been so callously dubbed, is a cruel restraining mechanism. When placed around the neck of someone with magic in their blood, it nullifies their abilities. Any attempt to harness their magic will be met by an electric bolt that can be fatal if received numerous times.

"We didn't know what they were, at first," said Granger. "We sent them over to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, which was re-established following the war. Then Mrs. Felicity Rivers claimed she saw the device snapped around her sister's neck moments before the police carted her off. We suspected then."

Despite their best efforts, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was unable to learn much about the collar.

"They appear to be inactive unless placed around the neck of someone with magical blood," Granger said. "That makes sense. It would explain how they've been able to track the ones that managed to escape."

The Ministry of Magic does not tolerate the subjugation and imprisonment of anyone born to magical parents. Khathade Strom, veteran Minister of fourteen years, believed action had to be taken.

"It's inhumane," Strom said. "We're no different from them, and I know some would say we're superior. They're frightened and reckless, that's all there is to it. I didn't approve of this from the beginning, but I was overruled, unfortunately."

The Minister met with the President of the United States several times to negotiate a peaceful resolution. The deliberations did not go well, and the Minister barely escaped with his life.

"We had his back," said Malfoy. "The _Prophet _exaggerates sometimes. Potter sent four of us in there with Strom." Malfoy laughed then. "I could have handled it myself, to be honest. The Muggles didn't know what hit them."

The Salem Witches' Institute was overrun last week by Muggle officials. They dragged off several students in the "Shock Rings", but the staff managed to evacuate the rest before any more harm could be done. The refugees are now in hiding.

"That's one way to put it," Strom said. "We're building a new facility off the coast of New England. It'll serve as the American branch of the Ministry, as well as provide schooling for those unfortunate students. I felt it fitting that we attained a strong foothold in our enemy's backdoor."  
The school, temporarily christened "The Central Bureau of Magical Ancestry", should be completed sometime this fall. Term will begin immediately following. For more information, and for tips on how to avoid detection by Muggles, see reverse side.

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It ended there. Neville had read and reread these words more times than he could remember. He looked up in mild surprise; twilight had fallen. The only light that shone came from the lamp on his desk and the twin lanterns on the columns.

A knock sounded at the door, sounding slightly unsure of itself. Neville hesitated. It was far too late for anyone he could fathom to be calling upon him at this time of night.

The knock was repeated, more insistent this time. Neville replaced the galleon inside his robes and threw the leaflet back on the desk. "Come in," he called.

The door was pushed open and a cloaked figure bowed its way inside, closing the door behind itself. Neville was apprehensive for a brief moment, but then two pale white hands reached up and pulled back the hood, revealing long locks of straggly dirty-blonde hair. The woman smiled up at him with brilliant blue eyes, but it seemed slightly forced. There were no radishes dangling from her ears this day, and her permanent look of surprise had vanished, replaced with one of worry.

"Mrs. Scamander," Neville greeted and rose from his chair. "Why, this is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Luna combed one hand through her hair absently and walked toward him, climbing the steps until she stood at the other side of the desk. In the glow from the lamp, Neville could see the beginnings of lines forming at the corners of her eyes. But her smile still held its warmth. "You've known me long enough, Neville, to use my first name. Please."

He smiled back, although he felt in no mood to be so buoyant with his feelings. Still, it simply wouldn't do to have her uncomfortable. "It's been a long time, Luna," he said. "You look well."

"You look tired," she said airily. "Glasses don't suit you, Neville. Are you going to draw me up a chair or shall I do it myself?"

He almost smacked himself over the head and pulled his wand out of his trousers. "No, no, I'll do it." He gave a lazy flick and a comfortable chintz armchair materialized in midair, hovered for a moment, and then settled itself on the other side of his desk. Luna seated herself with a small sigh.

Neville gave another flourish of his wand and two mugs appeared, accompanied by a bottle of Madam Rosmerta's finest mead. The cups set themselves down on the desk and the mead began to pour itself of its own accord. Neville pocketed his wand and passed one of the cups to Luna before he pressed his own to his lips.

"How have you been?" he asked after a sip.

Luna was staring into her cup; her eyes were glazed over. "Quite well, considering. My research has been very exciting these past few weeks. Still…" She paused and he did not press her. She continued on after a moment. "The boys are doing well. They're excited to be coming back to Hogwarts. They'll be in their second year. Rolf thinks they look like me, but I—"

Her eyes had filled with tears.

"What is it, Luna?"

She looked up at him then. A lone tear had streamed down her cheek and was dangling from her chin; it plopped noiselessly into her cup. It was not until then that she spoke, in a bare whisper. "It's Rolf," she screwed up her face horribly. "T-they've taken h-him."

"Who's taken him? What are you talking about?" But he feared he already knew the answer.

"The please-men." She gave an odd sort of hiccup and lurched in her seat. "Whatever they're called. The damned Muggles."

"Are you sure?"

"Y-yes! I saw them while I was putting the kids to bed. I ran out to help, but then they came after me. I managed to Stupefy one of them. Hurt him pretty bad, too. The spell slammed his head through the car window; I was so furious. It all happened too fast. They just threw Rolf into the back of the car and drove off. They didn't even help their friend."

She pulled out a thin iron collar and set it on the desk before her. "I found this on him. I notice you've got one, too. Vile things. How did you come by it?"

"Long story," he said simply, and sat up taller in his chair. "Are you alright? Are the boys alright? We could send you to one of the safehouses."

She shook her head. "No. They will be safer here at Hogwarts, and I can take care of myself. I am a perfectly capable witch."

"You say they left one of their own behind. Where is he now?"

"At our house, quite secure in the basement. I was waiting to speak with you before I decided what to do with him."

"Do you have any idea where they've taken your husband?"

She shook her head again, and wiped her eyes with her free hand. When she turned back to look at him, they shone with a fierce fire. "But _he _knows."

"Who? The Muggle? Luna…"

"It's time we got some answers, Neville. I'm not going to torture the man myself, but I won't think twice about handing him over to the Aurors. Harry can deal with him."

"I don't know if Harry's going to agree to that," Neville said.

"The time has come to strike back at these people. I'm asking you as a friend. Please help me." She pulled a galleon out of her pocket, identical to the one that resided in his own robes.

"Dumbledore's Army," she said. "I haven't forgotten. We're in this together, right?"

Neville hesitated for a moment, chewing his bottom lip. He knew that Harry actually wouldn't mind at all getting some information out of this man. The only person unsure of the situation was himself. Finally, though, he nodded. "Right."

The warm smile returned to her face and she stood up, pulling her hood back over herself. Full darkness had fallen, and long shadows stretched over her face. "The Chosen One," she said formally. "He will save us again."

Neville nodded, but a small voice spoke in the back of his mind. This wasn't like before. Things were different, now.

"See you, Neville."

Luna turned and strode from the room. The door clanged shut behind her, leaving him to his thoughts. Things had changed.

Neville pulled a blank bit of parchment over to himself and, snatching a quill, prepared to write what could fully well turn out to be a very controversial message to Harry Potter, head of the Auror Office.

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**_Author's Note: This is probably my most controversial work so far. I won't be surprised if many of you see it as such. Leave your fuming anger at the door. I don't need to be told what a character would or would not do in the Harry Potter universe. I have read the books. This is me using an excessive amount of artistic liscense with pretty much everything because I fucking feel like it. So please, comment, review, etc. ~_**


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